


tu pleures tout comme un gosse

by papparadise



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but what's new, lucas cries a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papparadise/pseuds/papparadise
Summary: Between his father, his mother, and the upcoming exams, Lucas finds himself drowning in pressure. When he develops an eating disorder, he has to learn to fight the pressure and forgive others - but more importantly, to forgive himself.Fortunately, Lucas isn't alone.





	tu pleures tout comme un gosse

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from Genre by Eddy de Pretto

In later years, when Lucas would try to pinpoint the exact moment it all started going downhill, he’d pick out this evening. One of the triggers, he would call it. Meals out with his father were rarely enjoyable, but ones that included his father, his father’s new girlfriend, and her son, were almost unbearable. His father had texted him out of the blue to invite him, merely telling him “There’s someone I want you to meet. I’d rather you didn’t bring the boy.”. 

If it hadn’t been for “the boy” reassuring him and encouraging him to go, Lucas wouldn’t have come at all.

The girlfriend was sweet and simpering, the son confident and hauty, both incredibly well-dressed. Lucas, in his overly-casual hoodie and jeans, was clearly the anomaly. He adjusted his clothes self-consciously throughout the meal as he watched the woman’s son picking at a salad with slender fingers, unconsciously trying to rub the steak grease off his own nail-bitten hands.

“So Lucas, Marcus tells me you’re in premier - you’ll be taking your bac next year, yes?”

“Terminale, actually.” Lucas corrected. “I’ll be taking it this year.”

“Ah.”

The woman laughed delicately, falsely, taking a sip from her champagne flute before motioning to her son.

“Pierre here took his last year, passed with 97%, didn’t you darling? Heading straight into a law internship at Gide Loyrette in September.”

Pierre gave a graceful smile, waved a slim hand modestly. When he spoke his voice was clipped, sophisticated, superiour. 

“Oh, it’s nothing really - just a step on the ladder until I can get into the real business, you know how it is.”

_You know how it is, when you’re set for life. Just a step on the ladder, just another part of being the perfect son. Before the real business, you know, before I can breeze my way up to the top. You know how it is._

Lucas didn’t.

When they finished eating, Lucas’ father exchanged a conspiratorial glance with the woman, who preened and smiled and dipped her head bashfully. 

“Marcus and I have an announcement.” She simpered, reaching out to squeeze Lucas’ father’s hand over the table. Lucas stared at their hands, noticing far too late the silver flash across one of her fingers. The sparkling band caught the light of the chandeliers above them as she intertwined their hands, revealing the fat diamond nestled there. 

Barely a year had passed since his father had walked out on Lucas and his mother - only six months since the divorce had been completed. Like water desperately cupped in his hands, the time had slipped through, and now here was his father, already preparing to remarry whilst Lucas was still reeling from it all.

At the end of the evening, Lucas’ father proposed a toast, raising a glass to “My new family”.  
The sickly champagne burned as Lucas drained his glass.

When he returned home, Eliott was waiting up for him, pulling Lucas straight into his arms. Lucas knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears if he told Eliott the news, so he didn’t. He swallowed down the burning ache in his throat, feigning tiredness, and went to bed. If Eliott sensed anything, he didn’t ask.

Lucas awoke early in the morning, having slept fitfully. He lay in bed quietly for a few minutes, listening to the soft snuffle of Eliott breathing next to him, unwilling to disturb the other boy’s peaceful sleep. The springs of the bed creaked as he sat up, and he eased himself off it slowly, pausing for a moment as his head adjusted to being upright before padding out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. The memory of last night was beating a steady thump in his head, the pressure of his unshed tears giving way to emptiness. As he reached for the box of cereal, the image of _Pierre_ delicately swallowing his salad leaves - _you know how it is_ \- swam before his eyes. He squeezed them shut tight, and swerved his hand to reach for the coffee instead, blaming the early hour for the sudden nausea rising in his gut.

When Eliott got up half an hour later, his hair disheveled and pink pillow creases across his left cheek, Lucas pushed down his inexplicable anxiety and gave him a smile. When he kissed him good morning, it tasted of Lucas’ strong coffee and the sugary cereal that Eliott ate by the handful, straight from the box.

* * *

The next trigger that Lucas would pinpoint, came a few weeks later. Exam season was fast approaching, and Lucas’ time was divided between desperately trying to revise for the bac, and avoiding his father’s texts. He had taken up jogging, something for which Eliott frequently teased him (though never failed to help him “cool down” in the shower afterwards). Exercise was good for the brain, he had read, and at this point in the year he needed all the help he could get. It meant he lost time revising, but he could always make that up by staying up a little later, he reasoned.  
Coming back from a particularly long run one evening, he was leaning against the kitchen counter to take off his trainers when a pair of arms snaked around his waist, pulling tight against his sweaty skin. Lucas laughed as he felt Eliott’s breath ghosting up his neck, squirming as the tip of a tongue flicked out to lick a stripe just below his ear.

“Salty.” Eliott whispered against him, moving his hands around to caress Lucas’ warm stomach, which still heaved with laboured breaths.

Lucas let out a tiny grunt in response, letting his quivering muscles lean back against Eliott as he waited to catch his breath properly.

“You’re so hot when you’re like this.” Eliott breathed into his neck, squeezing Lucas’ stomach slightly to elicit a giggle from the younger boy. “So fucking hot.”

He pulled Lucas round to face him, but just as he was leaning down to capture his lips, Lucas’ phone buzzed on the counter, making him break away from Eliott with a laugh, going into the living room to answer the call.

By the time it finished, he wished he hadn’t.

His mother, apparently, had taken a turn for the worse, and his father, so _kindly_, had decided that the institute she was in wasn’t doing a good enough job. He had called Lucas to tell him so, letting him know that from the end of the week his mother would be staying in a clinic in Lille.

“It’ll be further for you to travel, but it’s much better value than the one she’s in now, and there’s really nowhere else in Paris she can go - you can always take the train to see her if you really want to, or something - now look Lucas, I really must go, Andrea’s coming to…”

Lucas hung up before his father even finished speaking. 

“Just a wrong number.” He answered to Eliott’s enquiring look, then shut himself in the bathroom. Under a searing shower, he scrubbed at his skin, hard. Between his hot sweat and the steaming water, he barely noticed the few silent tears running down his cheeks.

Over the next few weeks, the looming bac tests began gnawing away at Lucas more and more. Eliott helped, of course, but was equally busy completing his first year of university studies, and spent large portions of his day at the uni library, returning as exhausted as Lucas himself. As exams drew nearer, Lucas felt himself begin to slip, the tides of stress rising up gradually over his knees, his chest, up to his neck - a threateningly silent wave, waiting to break. More and more often, he found himself awake in the small hours of the morning, forcing himself to finish one more page, one more chapter, one more textbook, before he could finally rest. And this, he would tell himself, was the reason he kept missing breakfast - studying late, waking late, he had no time for anything other than a quick coffee before he had to run to catch the bus to college. 

Except, some days he did have time.

He had time to reach for the box of cereal, almost cringing at the rustle of the sugar-coated kernels inside. He had to time to wince at the garish, bright cartoons which adorned the box, promising _Sweet Crunchy Goodness, Bursting With Energy!_ And yet little by little, he began pouring himself less and less, then stopped reaching for it altogether. It was too chaotic, too sickly, too _much_. Coffee, a simple black coffee, gave him control. The satisfactory snap of the filter paper. The flick of the kettle to boil. The scalding heat in his throat. Even the hollow, empty feeling of his stomach. They all pleased him, gave him command, a new sense of lightness. 

And anyway. All that sugar, empty calories, was bad for the brain. He had exams to think about. 

* * *

One friday, Eliott was waiting when Lucas came out of the lycée gates, sitting on the wall. As soon as he saw Lucas he hopped off, pulling him in for a kiss. Lucas melted at the sight of him, momentarily forgetting his worries about his parents and the upcoming exams.

“What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t meet my boyfriend after school when I feel like it?”

Lucas laughed, pressing a kiss to Eliott’s cheek.

“Of course you can. Any time.”

“Good, because I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. You need a break from all your revision.”

Eliott grinned at him, half-moon eyes crinkling.

Lucas felt his stomach lurch fearfully, quickly smiling back at Eliott to cover it. He’d been doing okay all week, had managed to stay in control, and didn’t need a spontaneous meal out messing it up. If they stayed out all evening, he wouldn’t be able to go for his run, or revise.

“That’s sweet, but I’d rather have you for dinner,” He tried, giving a wink and tugging at Eliott’s hand. “Can’t we stay in tonight?”

He hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

“Nope, I’ve already booked a table at that burger place we wanted to try! C’mon Lu, you really deserve a break.”

Eliott smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead, and Lucas couldn’t resist. He let Eliott pull him along, hand in slender hand.

In the restaurant, Lucas waited until Eliott went to the toilet before tugging out his phone quickly, pulling up google.

_lowest calorie item on gusteaus burger menu_

The search brought up a multitude of sites, none of them offering anything useful. Lucas flicked through a few desperately, until suddenly Eliott was back from the toilet and he shoved his phone away in a panic, flipping open the menu on the table. 

“Dude, you have to go check out the toilets later, they’ve got these crazy light fixtures made of broken cutlery. You know what you want to order yet?”

Eliott plonked himself in the chair opposite Lucas as he spoke, flicking his eyes over the menu swiftly, making his choice before Lucas even had a chance to answer.

“I think I’m gonna get the bacon cheeseburger, looks awesome. Maybe some fries? What d’you think?”

“Mm.”

Lucas shrugged noncommittally, raking his eyes back over the menu desperately.

“I’m not too hungry actually, I ate earlier...I think I’ll just get the, uh, the chicken salad?”

Eliott raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment, continuing to chat after they placed their order. Lucas let himself relax, focusing on Eliott and enjoying his company. They hadn’t done a proper date in a while, what with the bac and Eliott’s uni projects, and he had missed it. The soft lighting in the restaurant lit up Eliott’s face with a subtle red glow, accentuating the dips of his jawline and curving cheekbones. Lucas couldn’t help but revel in his beauty for a moment, tracing the sharp contours with his gaze.

Then the waiter arrived with the food, and without warning Lucas felt himself on the verge of breaking down into tears.

The chicken salad was huge, piled high with chunks of fried chicken and toasted croutons, all dripping in a creamy dressing, the salad leaves glistening with what could only be olive oil. Lucas felt sick to his stomach as he took it in. What was in that dressing? Mayonnaise? Yoghurt? It looked rich and fatty, and Lucas immediately regretted his order. It was supposed to be a _salad_, for fuck’s sake, salads were meant to be healthy - not have the caloric content of a plateful of butter.

Forcing himself not to grimace, Lucas glanced over at Eliott, who was delightfully snapping a picture of his own meal - a towering burger, stacked with layers and layers of crispy bacon and juicy meat, all weighed down by dripping slabs of melted cheese, slathered with ketchup and mayonnaise. Even the bread looked shiny, golden brown burger buns coated in butter.

“Fuck me, this looks so good!” Eliott grinned wolfishly at Lucas, wrapping his fingers around the greasy burger. “Bon appetit! I’m starving.” 

Lucas was practically mesmerised, watching as Eliott took a huge bite, sauce dripping down his chin as he chewed, his fingertips instantly shining with grease. He gave a hyperbolic moan as he swallowed, winking at Lucas as he did so. Lucas grinned back weakly, returning his attention to his own meal.  
Chicken was protein, right? So it couldn’t be _that_ bad. And not _all_ the leaves were coated in dressing, so perhaps he could eat around it, or scrape some of it off. 

Reluctantly, he picked up his fork and began eating, feeling the greasy slide of the meat as he bit down. Each bite felt worse than the last, laden with oil and unnecessary calories. It was all unnecessary, all of it. He wasn’t even hungry. 

“You want some of these? No way I’m finishing them all.”

Lucas looked up to see Eliott waving some fries at him, speaking through a mouthful of burger. It gave him a grim sort of satisfaction to see Eliott eat like that, consuming all those calories without even seeming aware of it. At least he wasn’t eating as much as _that_, Lucas consoled himself - at least he had a little more control than Eliott.

He declined the fries, laughing as he fed them into Eliott’s mouth instead. He smushed up the salad with his fork, picking at the lettuce leaves when Eliott was watching, and drinking more water when he wasn’t. Surreptitiously he pushed it all to one side of the plate, gradually making it look like he’d eaten more. Finally, Eliott finished his burger, wiping greasy marks off his fingers with a napkin. Lucas scrunched up his own napkin and dropped it on his plate, a universal message of _I’m done, I couldn’t possibly eat any more._

“That was super good, I’m stuffed!” Eliott laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“Same, it was good.” Lucas agreed. 

He felt disgusting.

When they left the restaurant after paying, the sun was just beginning to set, the light fading from yellow to gold to grey. Lucas felt goosebumps forming on his skin as he shivered involuntarily. 

“Cold, baby?” Eliott squeezed Lucas’ hand, then moved to take off his tan coloured jacket.  
“Here, have this, I’m too warm anyway.”

If Lucas didn’t know that Eliott adored seeing Lucas in his clothes, he might have refused. But he was a little cold, and Eliott did love it.

He was always so fucking cold recently.

* * *

It would be weeks until Lucas realised there was a problem.

Fortunately, Lucas wasn’t alone.

“Babe? I’m cooking pasta, did you want cheese sauce or tomato? Or we’ve got that basil one from Carrefour you like?”

Eliott appeared in the living room doorway one evening, a jar of sauce in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and from where he was lying stretched out on the sofa Lucas could just trace out the lines of the veins along his forearms, tapering up to his angular elbows. For a moment, Lucas couldn’t answer, simply looked. Then, blinking:

“Uh, I don’t really mind um...I actually ate earlier with Yann so, I’m not too hungry. Just cook some for you.”

“What did you eat?”

Lucas jumped slightly, not expecting the question. There was an edge in Eliott’s voice he couldn't place, and for a moment he floundered.

“What?”

Eliott was leaning back against the door frame, watching Lucas carefully.

“With Yann, what did you eat?”

Lucas skipped a beat.

“We had...I don’t know, just the usual stuff, crisps and some pizza and...stuff, I’m just not that hungry.”

He flashed what he hoped was a convincing smile, ignoring the twist in his gut that lying to Eliott gave him, then flicked his attention back down to his phone, hoping Eliott would drop it and leave.

A few moments of silence passed, but Eliott didn’t leave the doorway, continuing to watch Lucas, until finally, in a voice that was more of a whisper, he spoke.

“Lucas, you keep saying that.”

Lucas turned back to look at him, feigning ignorance.

“Saying what?”

“For fuck’s sake Lucas! Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean. You keep saying these things, making these excuses! What’s going on?”

Immediately Lucas recoiled, withdrawing back into himself. Inexplicably, he felt a sudden surge of anger towards Eliott - what right did he have to start interrogating him? Why was it Eliott’s business whether he was hungry or not, or what he’d eaten?

“What are you, my mother? I just said, I’m not fucking hungry.”

“And that’s what you keep saying! It’s not true, Lucas!”

Panic blossomed in Lucas’ chest as they shouted, the tremor in his voice as he spoke again a mixture of anger and fear, pure terror overtaking him without him even knowing why.

“What would you know? You think I can’t tell if I’m hungry or not? You think I fucking need you to tell me, to tell me anything? I don’t! And I don’t want any of your fucking pasta!”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He wasn’t even sure where they came from, where the anger broiling in his gut had come from. It dissipated almost as quickly as it had arisen, leaving him suddenly exhausted, and guilty. In the silence that followed his outburst he couldn’t bring himself to meet Eliott’s eyes, but could feel his hurt anyway, sensing the downward slump of his boyfriend’s shoulders and the sadness of his eyes without even looking. 

A few more seconds passed, and Eliott didn’t move. 

Lucas picked at a loose thread on the sofa. His throat felt tight, a watery knot threatening to break behind his eyes.

“Sorry.” He managed eventually, focusing on not letting his voice crack. “I’m just, stressed, is all. The bac, you know...and...yeah.”

He tapered off, unsure of how to finish, but a moment later it didn’t matter, because Eliott was dropping onto the sofa and taking Lucas in his arms, a warm tide enveloping him. He cradled Lucas’ head against his chest, with hands so gentle and careful that Lucas almost cried.

And maybe he did, a little. Eliott simply held him, and let him.

When he finished making the pasta, much later, Eliott didn’t make Lucas a plateful. He made one extra large one, eating some then giving Lucas bites as they curled into the sofa together. Caught up in the tenderness of Eliott’s fingers tripping through his hair and across his cheekbones, and the soft shadows cast by Eliott’s eyelashes, Lucas lost track of how many forkfuls he had. 

* * *

Weeks down the line, Lucas couldn’t even blame it on stress anymore. The bac exams were long finished, and although he still had trouble being able to see his mother, she was content in her new home and that was all that mattered. He had heard less and less from his father since the announcement about the engagement, and that was the way he liked it. 

And yet.

The ugly, burning ache of pressure in Lucas’ chest didn’t go.

More and more of his clothes were starting to hang off him awkwardly, folds of fabric draped over bony elbows and prominent collarbones as he burrowed deeper into oversized hoodies. His shorts hung low on his waist, ample fabric bunched over his sharp hip bones.  
And he was cold, constantly. When he went for a run he came back trembling, a thin film of cold sweat over his face and back. Eliott no longer fawned over his flushed cheeks and warm skin in the shower when he returned - _you’re so fucking hot when you’re like this _\- but looked on sadly as he pulled off his trainers, tugging at the laces with paper thin fingers. Lucas ignored him, noting proudly his sharp wrists and the slim lines of his hands. In the shower afterwards, he would run his fingers over the dips of his clavicles, hunching his shoulders to push his collar bones out further, taking satisfaction in the contours formed.

Even if Lucas was miles away from realising there was a problem, and even further from admitting it.

Fortunately, Lucas wasn’t alone.

It happened as they were watching a film together one evening, tangled together in a mess of limbs on the sofa. Lucas, wrapped in a hoodie and a nest of blankets, was resting against Eliott’s chest, a pair of strong arms wrapped firmly around his own waist.  
As Lucas traced the veins of Eliott’s forearms with careful fingers, he felt them tightening around him, two hands splaying out across his chest. Behind him, Eliott was breathing shakily against his neck.

“Alright?” He whispered, loth to break the spell of the warm cocoon they were wrapped in. 

Eliott took so long to reply that Lucas wondered if he’d even heard, but eventually he felt Eliott’s breath ghosting over his neck as he spoke, a whisper tinged with tears breaking the surface of the air between them.

“You’re so small, Lucas.”

Eliott’s voice was splintered and quiet, his low whisper threatening to crack. Lucas froze at the words and tried to hold himself away from Eliott awkwardly, but was stopped by his boyfriend’s arms tightening around his chest. 

“You’re so, bloody, small.”

Eliott spoke almost silently, the broken words falling, rather than forming on his lips. Something hot dropped down the bag of Lucas’ neck, and his stomach dropped as he realised his boyfriend was crying.

He felt Eliott draw in another breath, trembling against his back.

“Lucas…” Eliott began again softly, but Lucas was suddenly overwhelmed, didn’t have the strength to hear what would come next.

“Please, Eliott, don’t.” 

He wanted to be strong, but his voice was weak even to his own ears. Eliott’s arms tightened around him, stopping his attempt to struggle away.

“Lucas, you can’t keep denying this. You can’t keep running away and pretending it’s nothing.”

He moved so that he was leaning above Lucas, bringing a hand up to his face to force him to meet his eyes, the other hand still pressed over Lucas’ chest.  
When he began to protest weakly again, Eliott simply shook his head, gazing at Lucas so sadly that the words died in his throat.

“Lucas, baby, Lucas…” Eliott continued nonsensically, tears dripping down his cheeks as he ran his hand exasperatedly up and over Lucas’ torso. 

“Lucas, I can feel your ribs through this blanket. Please, baby, you have to stop.”

Lucas struggled away again, his heart breaking as Eliott cried, unable to watch his boyfriend break down, knowing he was the cause. Eliott choked out a protest, grabbing onto Lucas and trying to pin him in place, and for a moment they wrestled, fingers desperately gripping shoulders and chests until at some point they stopped wrestling away from each other and started pulling towards each other, both falling together in a mess of heavy breathing and tear stained cheeks.

Lucas, overwhelmed, broken, exhausted, fell into Eliott’s arms like a child.

He was tired, so tired. 

Eliott, confused, broken, lost, held him close. And Lucas sobbed. For what felt like hours, he simply cried, gripping weakly onto Eliott’s shirt as tears streamed down his face, allowing himself to let go for the first time in weeks, months. 

Later, he apologised uncontrollably, and Eliott kissed the tear tracks on his cheeks. 

After that, Lucas told him about his father, about the upcoming marriage, about the son. Eliott held his face between two hands and kissed his forehead. 

In the early hours of the morning, Lucas told him about his mother moving, about how helpless and powerless he had been. He told him how every meal was a fight for control, and every swallowed mouthful a battle lost. Eliott threaded one hand into Lucas’ hair and pressed the other against the small of his back, cradling his fragile bones.

And they slept.

* * *

Lucas was awoken in the morning by a bright stream of sunlight spilling in through the half closed curtains. As his eyes adjusted to the light he discovered he was no longer on the sofa, but lying in bed, and he realised Eliott must have carried him through sometime in the night. A glance to his left revealed Eliott curled up beside him, still asleep, one hand resting beside his face on the pillow, his mouth half open. Even in sleep, he was beautiful. 

Lucas let a hand drop to smooth Eliott’s hair back softly, careful not to wake him. He moved closer, close enough to count every eyelash brushed against Eliott’s cheeks, and watched the way the morning sun kissed his face, illuminating every curve. 

Eliott _was_ beautiful. Lucas knew it. He just couldn’t understand it. 

Lucas had to work so hard to look half-decent, to have a body that wasn’t heaving with extra weight. Sometimes he found himself comparing his body to Eliott’s, but had to force himself to stop, knowing he could never, ever, measure up to Eliott’s beauty. How could he, with his bloated thighs and soft stomach, ever hope to compare to Eliott, with his effortlessly slim legs and chiselled chest, his sharp jawline that Lucas loved to kiss.  
He worked so hard, to be worthy of the way Eliott looked at him. But looking at Eliott now, with the morning light dancing across his cheekbones, Lucas knew he could never be worthy of it. He didn’t deserve it.  
He was interrupted from his musings by Eliott stirring beside him, scrunching his eyes tight as he woke up slowly, stretching out one fist to the side. As soon as his eyes opened enough to see Lucas beside him, he smiled sleepily, throwing over a heavy limb to pull him close, murmuring something into the pillow. They lay like that, in a sleepy tangle, until Eliott kissed Lucas forehead slowly, then rolled onto his back. Kicking off the sheets, he pulled at Lucas’ hand, giggling as Lucas grunted and tried to cling onto the pillow instead, unwilling to stir.

“C’mon, sleepy.” Eliott paused to yawn, his voice husky from sleep. “We’re having breakfast.”

He said it lightheartedly, but even through the early morning haze Lucas could sense a firmness in his boyfriend’s voice._ Breakfast. No excuses._

Reluctantly, he pulled his aching limbs from the bed and followed Eliott to the kitchen, trying to quell the anxiety fluttering in his stomach.

“Cereal or toast?”

“Eliott, look, I’m really not that hu-”

“Cereal, or toast.”

Lucas’ hand curled into a fist in his hoodie pocket.

“Toast...”

He sat down at the table resignedly, trying not to look as Eliott padded around the kitchen, finding the bread and plates and knives for them both. When the toaster pinged, he set two plates down on the table, and sat himself down directly opposite Lucas. 

“Two pieces of toast, okay? We’ve both got exactly the same. We’re going to eat it together.”

Lucas pushed his fisted hand against his stomach, pressing down hard, feeling his fingers slip against each other with how tight they were held. 

“Lucas?”

Eliott was watching him with raised eyebrows, waiting. Lucas swallowed down a grimace, picking up one corner of toast between his finger and thumb 

He bit down slowly, a mouthful of crust. Eliott mirrored him bite for bite. 

They ate together, slowly but surely, Eliott pushing his foot under the table to nudge against Lucas’ leg’s reassuringly every so often. And Lucas managed, for the first slice.

When they got onto the second, however, he felt his strength dissipating. Eliott had buttered the toast carefully, and Lucas couldn’t stop himself from doing a calorie count in his head, trying to calculate what the meal would cost him. Tears began to prick at the edges of his eyes as the numbers stacked up _(150 times 2 for the bread, plus butter, that’s 50? more?)_ and he faltered, half a slice of toast still left to go. He risked a glance up. Eliott was still watching him. Carefully, deliberately, he brought his own piece of toast up to his mouth, waiting for Lucas to do the same. In spite of himself, Lucas imitated, taking another bite.

The food turned to ash in his mouth.

He struggled to chew, fought to spit it out, forced himself to swallow. 

A single tear rolled down his nose, and he threw the rest of the slice down on the plate. Without looking at Eliott he pushed it away abruptly, standing up from the table.

“Eliott, I can’t, I-” He managed to choke out, cringing afresh at the crack in his voice. “I can’t.” Without waiting for Eliott to reply, he fled the kitchen.

A slice and a half. That was enough. More than enough.

The next morning, Eliott did the same. He prepared breakfast, identical platefuls for himself and Lucas, and they ate together, bite for bite. He cooked in the evenings, too. This time, he never forced Lucas to eat, but always made him a plateful and sat him down in front of it, just in case. Sometimes Lucas managed it, sometimes he couldn’t even bring himself to have a mouthful. But each time, after he’d cleared the plates away, Eliott would come find him, take him in his arms, and kiss his forehead. 

“It’s alright.” He’d say. 

Or sometimes, “Well done.”

Or even, “I’m proud of you.”

Lucas wanted to believe it. And after the third week, after a month, after two, he almost did.

* * *

One morning, staring down a bowl of cornflakes, Lucas finally asked.

“Eliott?”

Eliott looked up from his cornflakes, spoon poised midair. Lucas watched a single drop of milk form at the bottom, then drip back into the bowl.

“Mmm?”

“Can you - I mean, would you mind maybe, coming to see my mum with me one day? Just if you’re not busy, I mean, it’s kinda far but it’s quicker on the train, and -”

“Of course.”

Eliott interrupted him softly, cutting off Lucas’ babbling. He was grinning from across the table, his eyes shrinking into small crescents. 

“You will?” 

It wasn’t that Eliott hadn’t met Lucas’ mother yet - he had, before her illness got worse and she was moved to the clinic in Lille. But as Lucas slowly lost control, he hadn’t been able to bear taking Eliott with him to see her - didn’t want Eliott to see how powerless she was, how powerless _Lucas_ was when he sat at her bedside, useless, tears welling behind his eyes. So he went alone, once. Then once turned into usually, and usually turned into always, and gradually Eliott stopped asking about it. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lucas had managed to convince himself that Eliott didn’t want to come, that he was embarrassed at seeing Lucas so helpless. That he was ashamed. Then eventually, Lucas had stopped going too. 

Eliott chuckled quietly, leaning forward to take Lucas’ hand, cornflakes forgotten.

“Of course I will, you nugget! I thought you’d never ask.”

He stood up from his chair, pushing it back in his haste to reach Lucas at the other end of the table. Lucas was barely able to register the movement before he was being picked up as if he was weightless, then put down again in Eliott’s lap, head pressed into his neck. 

“I’d love to visit your mother, Lucas. I’d love to see her with you.”

He pulled his arms tighter around Lucas, pressing a kiss into the hair just above his ear. 

And on the train to Lille, he never let go of Lucas’ hand except to scan their tickets, squeezing it gently while he pointed out interesting buildings and trees as they sped through the French countryside. Walking to the clinic, with thin and fragile fingers, Lucas held onto Eliott like he was a lifeline. 

It wasn’t until they reached his mother’s door that Eliott finally let go, extricating his fingers from Lucas’ grip with some difficulty. Inadvertently Lucas let out a tiny whimper at the loss, until Eliott lifted Lucas’ hand up to his mouth and kissed the knuckles gently, stroking the soft skin of his palm..  
He gave Lucas a patient smile, then nudged him in the direction of the door.

“You can do this bit for yourself. You’re strong, Lucas.”

The fluttering nervousness in Lucas’ stomach didn’t dissipate, but calmed, just a little, and he pushed open the door to his mother’s room for the first time in weeks. 

After that, visits became regular again. Lucas’ mother took one look at him and folded him into a hug, reaching out to squeeze Eliott’s hand at the same time. She didn’t ask why Lucas had stopped coming, and he didn’t try to explain. But he left her each week with a hug and a promise to be back soon, and he never broke the promise.  
Sometimes when he arrived, she’d be finishing lunch and would offer him some, and beneath the weight of her love he couldn’t refuse. After the fifth or sixth time he began to realise it must be intentional, that no one else was still eating lunch at 3 in the afternoon - but he forced himself not to care. If Eliott was with him they’d eat together, the three of them making crumbs on his mother’s sheets, and Lucas wouldn’t trade those times for the world. 

One afternoon, after leaving the room momentarily to find a toilet, Lucas came back to find Eliott in his mother’s arms, his head resting on her shoulder. Lucas paused in the doorway to listen for a moment, unsure what he was interrupting. His mother was speaking softly, and he only caught the end of what she was saying.

“...always been like that. He’ll bottle it up, and won’t even realise when it gets to breaking point. You just have to be patient with him”

Lucas watched Eliott shift on the bed, heard the catch in his voice.

“I am, I just...it hurts, to see him like that. I don’t know how to help, I don’t know what to do. I can’t…” Lucas saw Eliott’s shoulder rise and fall as he sighed. “I just...I can’t lose him.”

“I know, cheri. I know. He’ll come back to you. Just trust him.”

A tear fought its way down Lucas cheek, and he pushed his hand over his face desperately, fighting against the sob that wavered in the back of his throat. He turned back from the door, running back down the corridor, unable to face the two people he loved most in the world. As he struggled to control his breathing once more, their words knocked around in his mind, drowning him. 

When he finally gathered the strength to go back, Eliott was sitting up at the end of the bed again, laughing at something Lucas’ mother had said. As soon as he saw Lucas he held out an arm, pulling Lucas down to lean against him. If he noticed the watery tremble of Lucas’ eyes, he didn’t mention it - and Lucas pretended not to notice the redness of Eliott’s own. 

* * *

Lucas bought a new suit for the wedding. He didn’t want to, didn’t want to go to any extra effort for his father, but the fact was his old one looked awful. The shoulders swamped him, sticking out far wider than Lucas’ own, and no amount of belts could make the trousers stay up around his waist. So he got a new one, trying not to listen as the tailor took his measurements, calling out casually the size of his waist, his shoulders, his chest.  
The morning of the wedding, he almost ripped the suit into pieces, screwing his hands into trembling fists. When Eliott called him into the kitchen for breakfast, Lucas bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming.  
All too soon, breakfast was finished, the unjust clock hands ticking ever closer to the hour of the wedding. While Eliott showered and dressed himself in his own suit and tie, chosen to match Lucas’s suit (and not a little to spite Lucas's father) he sat uncomfortably on the sofa, alternately picking at the skin around his nails and chewing on his lower lip, trying to focus on anything other than the day ahead. If it was down to him, he would be crawling back into bed right now and closing the door, but Eliott wouldn’t hear of it. And deep down, Lucas knew he was right. Whatever he thought of his father, today was important, if only to give him a sense of closure. 

“Baby? You ready?”

Eliott appeared in the doorway with a soft smile, his suit jacket slung over his arm. The light from the kitchen window fell on his tangled hair in golden beams, and even in his stressed state Lucas couldn’t help but be distracted by how good his boyfriend looked, his fitted white shirt pulled smoothly across his chest and shoulders. 

Eliott tossed his jacket unceremoniously on the arm of the sofa, leaning over towards Lucas. 

“Hey,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Lucas’s forehead. “You can do this. Don’t let him win.”

Lucas didn’t intend to.

* * *

The service was tolerable, the church tastefully-decorated. Lucas declined the _Reserved for family_ seats in the front row, tucking himself and Eliott into a back pew and watching Pierre take the front seat instead. When the organ began playing, Eliott took Lucas’s hand as they stood for the arrival of the bride. Only when the service was long finished and they were both safely out of the church did he let go, and even then only for a moment.  
At the reception afterwards he kept himself tucked against Lucas’s side, placing a protective hand against the small of his back when Lucas inevitably had to greet the newlyweds. Lucas noted with satisfaction the way his father’s eyes slid between himself and Eliott, slipping an arm around Eliott’s waist in silent defiance. 

_Don’t let him win._

Pierre didn’t deign to greet them, holding himself aloft beside his mother and her new husband, straight-backed and haughty in an expensive-looking black suit. Before he could let himself shrink away again, Lucas stepped forward, giving him a curt nod. 

“Pierre. This is Eliott.”

Pierre eyed them both with disinterest, but reached out a hand to shake Eliott’s. The insincerity was evident in his voice as he spoke. 

“Lucas. Eliott. Pleasure to meet you.”

Without missing a beat, Eliott reached out to shake the proffered hand, smiling heartily.

“Pierre. Pleasure to be here, with my boyfriend. What a beautiful wedding.”

Pierre dropped his hand as if he had been burned, distaste flicking across his features immediately as he glanced between Lucas and Eliott. Fighting to suppress his laughter, Lucas leaned up defiantly to kiss Eliott’s cheek. He looked Pierre in the eye, giving him a final nod.

“What a beautiful wedding.” He repeated, and walked away. 

As the evening drew on, Lucas began to relax a little more, even enjoying himself as the cake was cut and people began dancing, he and Eliott losing themselves among the twinkling lights and pairs of dancers. They found a table in the corner, and Lucas pilfered someone else’s champagne whilst Eliott sought out some cake. 

“When we get married, we’ll have a better cake than this. At least 5 layers.” 

“Oh? We’re getting married then?”

Lucas couldn’t help but laugh as Eliott glared at him mockingly, scandalised.

“Of course we are! And we’ll have an amazing cake, I’ll cook it.”

“First of all, you don’t cook cake Eliott, you bake it - and second of all, there’s no way you’re baking our wedding cake or we’ll get arrested for mass food poisoning before we even make it to the honeymoon.”

“Alright fine, whatever, we’ll get Manon to bake it. But I’ll help, and I’ll feed it to you, like this.”

Eliott picked up a morsel of cake carefully between finger and thumb, placing it gently in Lucas’ mouth before kissing him softly, sticky icing left on both their lips. 

Lucas chewed, and chewed, and swallowed. And he didn’t mind. He picked up another piece, feeding it to Eliott and grinning as he grabbed Lucas’s hand, holding it against his mouth to kiss the fingertips before letting go. They finished the whole piece of cake this way, taking turns to feed each other sticky, crumbly mouthfuls. And despite the tiny voice that still lingered in the back of Lucas’ mind, despite the constant counting and calculating that accompanied every mouthful, he found himself refusing to care.  
He glanced across the room, spotting his father laughing at something his new wife had said. Pierre was there at his right hand, sipping a glass of wine, stony-faced. But as Lucas watched them, the sickly sweet taste of cake still lingering in his mouth, he felt no bitterness, only freedom. None of it was perfect, and it wouldn’t be for a long time. Lucas knew it would take weeks, months, to feel comfortable around his father, to silence the whispers in his head, to tame the monster that distorted his reflection. But he knew now, that however long it took, he wanted to do it.  
“Lucas? Are you alright?”

Lucas turned at the sound of Eliott’s voice, realising he’d been silent for a while. Eliott was gazing at him carefully, his face open and honest, waiting. Lucas was unable to suppress the smile breaking out across his face, standing up to pull at Eliott’s hand. Eliott smiled back, then furrowed his brow slightly in confusion.

“Do you want to go?”

Lucas pulled at his hand again till Eliott stood up, shaking his head, then rose up on tiptoes to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear.

“I want you to dance with me.”

Then he was pulling Eliott towards the dance floor, laughing as Eliott spun him around and grabbed his waist, turning them together in small circles under the soft overhead lights. A few other couples drifted and turned around them, and Lucas pulled himself closer to Eliott, resting his head against his shoulder as they circled slowly. And he didn’t think about how many calories they were burning, about how many steps he was making. Right now, he didn’t need to. 

It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t be perfect for a long time, maybe never. But even Lucas couldn’t deny, it was good. He was good.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i started writing this months ago, but massively struggled, so i'm super glad it's finally done.
> 
> anorexia nervosa has the highest mortality rate of all psychiatric illness, and i wanted to write this fic primarily to raise awareness about it, and to show that it's not always just about "looking pretty".  
a lot of the time, it comes from external pressure and a need for control, or just a desire to be healthy getting corrupted. (this is only my experience of it, if you have a question or any issues with how i've portrayed it, please let me know!) i also think it's super important to raise awareness of eating disorders among boys.
> 
> i also just needed some elu to get me through these hard winter months without skamfr, and i'm nothing if not a sucker for some hurt and comfort.
> 
> i really hope you enjoyed this, please let me know what you thought!  
alternatively you can come yell nonsense at me on tumblr: @papparadise


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